


Illumine

by Unfair_Verona



Category: Blade Runner (Movies)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Feelings, Non-Explicit Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Replicants, Submission, Touching, consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfair_Verona/pseuds/Unfair_Verona
Summary: “I could hurt you, if I wanted. I could…” Now his hands are suddenly around her neck again, and the smile that’s not a smile is still on his mouth. It’s a dreamy, far-away look, both sinister and alluring. “…break you,” he finishes, the words velvet-soft. “Undo you, just as I have made you.”





	Illumine

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird and sort of creepy but I was having all sorts of thoughts and so I decided to write it. Let me know what you think.

She exists.

His voice is the first thing she hears. It’s so clear, deep, it thrums all through her. Familiar. 

She looks down, sees her body, like it’s a strange garment. Blinks, feels. Hands move, fingers twitch. Mind hums, like tiny wings. Everything is blank and languid and empty. Thoughts are just shards of light across a floor. 

He touches her, softly. She registers the press of his fingers on her arm, looks down, then back up at his pale eyes. The touch moves higher, she shivers. Over her clavicle, tracing the bones. She is solid, his fingers make her aware of herself, her skin, its boundaries.

She wants only to please him. It is her first instinct. She exists, there is air in her lungs and goosebumps rising on her flesh. He cradles her face in his warm hands and a breathy noise escapes her, startles her. His mouth twitches. He moves closer, she can smell him. She is very aware that she is naked, somehow, a sense of being exposed, opened. Gently, his hands skim over her neck, then fingers press in with urgency. Her breath hitches, she feels her pulse thudding, is very aware of her blood and her beating heart. Harder yet, those fingers press, but she does not move. She trusts. They have bonded instantly.

Something hot and deep moves in her, uncoiling. Then his hands are gone and her skin feels empty. There is suddenly too much of her that needs to be touched. 

“Angel,” he whispers. She shivers again.

 

 

Time passes. Slowly. She becomes more aware of herself, her surroundings. She learns. Memories fill in, like water poured into a glass, showing her places that she never was. Because there was nothing before this, before him. 

He calls her over and she goes, feeling warm in his presence, the scent of him. His strange eyes hold her pinned. She is…alive.

She kneels on the floor, a supplicant. How much of her he can actually see, she is unsure, but he seems constantly aware of her position, what her body is doing in this space. He is pleased when she kneels. 

“Do you fear me?” he asks. 

No. Not fear. Something else—that twisting, pulling, hot thing in the core of her.

“No, Sir,” she says.

His mouth moves, not quite a smile.

“Come here.” He commands softly, holding out his hand. “Come to me, angel.”

She crawls to him, the floor cool beneath her knees. When she accepts his hand, he pulls her to her feet.

As he cups her face in his hands, she swears that he can see inside of her mind. This makes her sigh, once and then again. His fingertips dance across her lips. He leans closer.

“I could hurt you, if I wanted. I could…” Now his hands are suddenly around her neck again, and the smile that’s not a smile is still on his mouth. It’s a dreamy, far-away look, both sinister and alluring. “…break you,” he finishes, the words velvet-soft. “Undo you, just as I have made you.”

He applies pressure, incrementally, testing her with each squeeze. She remains still, does not flinch, but her heart thuds wildly. And still there is no fear, but only the realization that yes, yes, he could, and she would let him. 

“But I won’t,” he promises. “Not yet. I have greater plans for you.”

 

 

She’s naked, as he likes her to be, as she likes to be, so that there is nothing between her and his hands. Now and again there come those memories, slide shows, moving pictures—like the soft orange light flickering, the shadows on the wall. She can tell the difference, she thinks, between what is real and what is not.

“There is so much potential inside of you. Strength. And yet…so very fragile.” His fingers rest against her lower belly. Heat dives and swirls in her veins. The touch _belongs_ , she feels like part of him. 

And then suddenly his hand lowers and cups her mound, tracing the folds of her sex. Her body rocks in surprise, she gasps a little. 

“Enjoy this,” he says, almost a command. “This feeling. You were created to want.” He presses a kiss against her shoulder, then rakes her sharply with his teeth. “And to become more.”

The touch goes deeper, as his fingers push inside of her, soft but urgent. He concentrates, she watches his face, the strange play of emotions, bathed in that shadowy orange glow that permeates the room. Then he moves quicker, more insistent still, pushing her, manipulating her body in a way that frightens and exhilarates her. Her legs are wobbling, her body shakes, on the verge of something new. It’s not pain, but it’s big and intense like pain.

She fills with light, it spills out from every corner of her, and she pitches forward, unable to stand. He catches her, pushes her down to the floor. Pain and not-pain. He is rough, but somehow almost reverent, and she is still and open for him because it is all she knows how to be. He’s inside of her, and she closes her eyes. There are no memories here, nothing, only dark, the sounds of him breathing and moaning.

She’s giving him something, she thinks. There’s something inside of her that he wants. He possesses her, reminds her that she is his, each stroke of him both loving and punishing.

 

 

She exists to be on her knees, now. Lives for his hands on her, whether they bruise or caress. At times he holds her like she is fragile, and then he will pin her down, fingers on her neck, again testing her devotion, her obedience to him. He bites into her skin, making mark after mark. He pushes her body to its limits, until she dissolves, until she is floating with the golden orange shadows.

There is nothing but the moment. Nothing else is real. Not the paper-doll memories, the cardboard scenery. Just the truth of what she is.

He holds her in his arms, his warm hand splayed out over her lower belly, anchoring her. She exists, if only to be fitted against his body, filled by him, played like an instrument. Because he made her. Because he has not un-made her yet.

“Do you fear me?” he asks again. 

“No,” she whispers.

He sighs, his breath soft and hot on her skin. Ghostly bright eyes look into her, seeing everything and nothing.

His fingers press in harder. “ _Angel_. You will.”


End file.
